Without looking up, she asked, “Are you going to hurt me?”

He’d read about the GHB. He knew these scenes would be forever erased from her memory. He could do whatever he wanted, and she’d never remember.

The sensual tone of seduction was gone; in its place was the authoritative tone of someone with an agenda. Tony refused to allow her fear or emotions to alter his plans. “That isn’t my plan. We’ll see how well you can follow directions.”

Tony pulled on the edge of Claire’s towel as she stepped back against the wall. Her clouded eyes opened wide and quickly looked away. He wondered if she could subconsciously fight the effects of the drug. He watched as she worked to form the right words. Finally, she mumbled, “Please.”

He stepped closer, his nude body still wet and his desire visible. “Please, what?”

“Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I have rules, Claire.” He gently pushed her wet hair away from her face. “Can you follow my rules?”

Avoiding eye contact, she nodded.

Abruptly, he raised her chin. “Don’t look away. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

“Yes, I can follow your rules.”

“Rule number one is to do as I say. I suggest you learn to follow that rule, if you want to make the best of this.”

Keeping her eyes downcast, her shoulders quaked as she silently sobbed. Once again, his hand struck her cheek.

“I told you not to look away.”

Her eyes immediately flashed toward his. Instantaneously, the clouds returned as pools of tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I’ll do as you say; please stop hitting me.”

The memories made Tony’s stomach turn. Of course, none of that was in Claire’s testimony. The GHB hid those memories from her, as well as other memories of the things he did during that flight and once they returned to Iowa.

Her testimony picked up the next day, when the drug was fully out of her system. It wasn’t until then that she started to understand the magnitude of her situation; nevertheless, the truth hit Tony between the eyes. Perspiration drenched his face and the illness he’d felt in the pit of his empty stomach erupted into full blown nausea. No matter what he did to make Claire’s life better or show her he’d changed, these memories would always linger in the recesses of his mind. For the rest of his life, he’d know what he’d done.

Tony hated himself for all of it—hell, he always had the end justifies the means argument, but even he didn’t believe that anymore. Not now. Not now that he knew Claire and loved Claire. The thought of someone doing to her what he’d done filled him with rage. If it were another person whom she described, Tony would want him dead. He’d leave no stone unturned to make him pay for his sins.

Tears coated his cheeks before he realized Brent was standing right in front of him.

“I take it you’ve read Claire’s testimony?”

Tony nodded. He didn’t want Brent knowing about this. Now Courtney would know. He should deny it and argue—but the image of Claire—not from her testimony—but from his memory—on his plane, wrapped in that towel, trembling and scared—wouldn’t let him lie.

“If the shit in that binder’s true, you’re one sick bastard”—Brent turned a circle—“I’m your personal attorney and friend. Tell me what we’re up against.”

Tony remained silent, his eyes so clouded with memories he could barely see the room around him.

“Damn it, Tony!” The table vibrated with the slap of Brent’s hand as his fury and anger filled the air. “Tell me the truth!”

The ferocity within the room grew as Tony’s anguish also began to build. Springing from the chair, he pushed past Brent and paced. “Where the hell did they get this? What the fuck does it mean? Is Claire alive? Do they know where she is? Did she press charges? Is that what this whole damn day is about?”

Brent seized Tony’s shoulders, as he demanded. “Fuck’n tell me if it’s true.”

Never had Brent spoken to Tony with that tone. Tony couldn’t help but retaliate, “Let go of me, or I swear to God I’ll punch you in the face!”

“Do it! Do it! Go ahead. Then maybe I’ll understand more of what Claire endured.”

Tony staggered backward. Brent’s words cut deeper than any knife and were more painful than a fist to the jaw. “It was before”—Tony’s fight evaporated as his knees buckled against the chair—“It was a long time ago. Things are, or were, different—this time. I didn’t have anything to do with her recent disappearance.”

Brent fell into a chair and fought to control his words. Finally, he asked, “So, you’re telling me this is true? You did this shit to a woman you claimed to love—a woman you married—a woman you charged with attempted murder and later wanted to reconcile with? You did this sick-ass-shit to the mother of your child?”

“No!” Tony stared at Brent. He felt the black fill his eyes as red filled his vision. “I’m not saying that. I’d never do that to the mother of my child or the woman I was reconciling with. Like I said—it was different.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. Suddenly, his face weighed too much for his neck. Tony collapsed against the back of the chair allowing his head to rest against the cinderblock wall. “The only person, who understands—me—or any of this—is Claire.” Indignation returned and his neck strengthened. “Tell me this isn’t relevant. Tell me you can suppress this evidence”—Tony stood as the volume of his voice rose—“I paid a lot of money to have this disappear!”

Brent shook his head. “Shit! Did you just tell me, an attorney, that you paid to have evidence suppressed? Jesus, tell me you didn’t just say that!”

Tony felt the blood drain from his face as his limbs suddenly felt heavy. “I—I”—Perspiration appeared on his brow as he contemplated his answer and sunk back against the cool cement wall—“What I meant to say is that this evidence is old—things change, people change. Please...” It may have been the first time he’d ever used that word with Brent, but that didn’t make it any less heartfelt. “Please, tell me you can convince them I didn’t hurt her.”

Brent stared.

“This time”—Tony’s tone hardened as he pushed back the emotions he refused to reveal. His words slowed—“I didn’t hurt her this time”—he paused momentarily and gathered his thoughts—“This time she came to Iowa of her own free will. We were having a baby”—shaking his head he corrected himself—“No, we are having a baby. She accepted her engagement ring”—He held Brent’s gaze—“You are my friend as well as my personal attorney; tell me you believe me.”

Brent’s shoulders relaxed and he said, “We should eat.”

“No! Food doesn’t matter.”

Leaning forward, Brent steadied his tone. “Tony, listen to me—I know that’s not your forte, but shut-up and let me help you.”

The air left Tony’s lungs. “You’re still willing to help me?”

“I’ll be honest with you. We have been friends and maybe we still are, but right now I’m pissed as hell and friendship isn’t why I’m willing to do this for you.” He sat straighter while maintaining eye contact. “When this is all done, you can fire me, but going in, you should know, I’m not doing this for you—I’m doing this for Claire. If she trusted you again—after all this shit”—he pointed to the binder—“I will too.”

Tony’s neck gave way as his face fell forward. Rubbing his hand through his hair, he exhaled. “You’re not fired. What can you do?”

“I’ll make some calls. If the FBI isn’t pressing charges, I think I can get you released, at least momentarily. When we’re back in Iowa, we’re gonna talk about this...”